Rudyard Fearon : Poems

The Closed Door

Rudyard Fearon

He burst in the room —
not looking at us.
Feet shuffled.
I hurried over to him —
fake smile in place.
"How's life treating you, Jack?"
The music stopped.
Feet shuffled out.
"She's not here, Jack!"
I edged between him
and the closed door.
"Honest...she's not."
Silence.